His life told by himself

This part includes illustrations and anecdotes. Here, the author’s telling about himself, from his first meeting with Art up to nowadays, also through interviews which will be regularly updated, according to his temper.

My first souvenir

My childhood was very untroubled and nature was its favourite setting. Since I was a child, I have liked drawing and my first contact with Art was a big picture there was in my grandfather’s sitting room. It was in the garret and was about the four seasons; in the middle, there was a shepherd boy with his sheep on the range. The house was old, I venture to say that it was ancient, and the water that filtered from the old tiles drew some patches of mildew on it. I spent hours and hours observing that picture and daydreaming about it! That was my first non-representational lesson. Those patches continually turned into new and different forms: they were vagabond clouds in the morning and sheep on the range in the evening; sometimes, they were very big masks which blew and, like God in the Diluvio Universale, they always changed their shape. I was three at that time.

First class of the Primary School

I remind my teacher, God rest his soul, going out of the classroom. We hadn’t any toilet at school, so we made do. My teacher’s toilet was the bush. I drew everything around me and, that time, I drew my teacher too: his head above the bush and a fountain coming out of him. I was so involved that I didn’t realize he had gone back. The class soon became silent and I became aware of him too late. He slapped me on the wrist and he gave me a good thrashing. I had brought shame on him and he really didn’t know what to do with me: it was an obscene work and I was really sorry about it, but it was only a drawing, after all. I didn’t get home that afternoon, and scared I climbed up a tree, a weeping willow. They couldn’t find me till sunset, when my mother came and took me home. The next morning I didn’t want to go to school, I was frightened he would have become angry, but by hook or by crook they persuaded me to go. When I entered the classroom my teacher came closer, he took a box of “Giotto” (a famous Italian brand) pastels and a drawing book with him, and said: “Fine, you are good, you will be a painter. I’ll give you the pastels if you give me the drawing.” At that time I didn’t think to be an artist, I only thought it was my teacher’s kind way to say sorry. My life was on agriculture and readings, but I got to realizing that my drawings had something to tell; they had an effect, of course, and I knew it from experience!